


The Dark Side of the Moon

by worstpersoninyourfandom



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blindness, Dogs, England in the 80s, Gentle boys in love, M/M, Rape Recovery, Recovered Memories, Service Dogs, Sex Magic, Torture, google-translated welsh, no one asked for this but here it is anyway, quests 2.0, regular magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-02-26 22:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worstpersoninyourfandom/pseuds/worstpersoninyourfandom
Summary: A newly-remembering Bran saves Will from the darkness within men's hearts. Together they heal, strengthen, and become who they were always meant to be. One may go alone, but history tells us that two is always better.





	1. Under the Ice

On the night of his 25thbirthday, Bran remembered.

 

While Will Stanton was born in the depths of Winter, Bran Davies came into the world the night before midsummer’s day. It was a dozen years after those memories were locked in a deep corner of his mind, and in the hot darkness of his attic room, he tossed and turned. His dreams were plagued by Darkness, by white foxes and burning swords. In the turbulence, the scream of a skeletal horse sounded, and he woke with a start. Only one thing was on his mind: _Find Will._ He brushed past the flow of childhood memories returning. It didn’t feel as strange as it should, considering. In fact, remembering felt like the most natural thing in the world, like sliding into a cool stream on a hot day. Rather, any shock that may have come with the remembrance was drowned out by the panic and fear plaguing the edges of his mind. Something pushed him forward, out of bed to dress in the pre-dawn light. Though unsure how, Bran knew Will was in grave danger.

 

On the train to London, Bran dozed in fits, lulled to sleep by the rolling fields outside his window. His dreams were again dark. In one, Will was drowning, his eyes wild above the waves. Bran swam as hard as he could against the current, but, in the way of dreams, moved nowhere. He was shaken awake by a conductor, who chastised him for disturbing the rest of the carriage. The journey was nearing its end. In the station, Bran’s wits began to return to him. He found a pay phone and dialed Will’s number from memory. It was still early, before ten, and he knew classes shouldn’t have started yet. Bran didn’t question why his friend’s schedule had become second nature to him, but enough long “catch-up” calls had drilled it into his brain. The phone rang ten times. And then five more. On the twentieth ring, Bran hung up. Will clearly wasn’t home. Still, he hailed a cab, and gave them Will’s address in Soho.

 

Will’s flat was unlocked, and Bran let himself in. The place was deserted. Exploring, Bran poked through the flotsam of Will’s life. Here was his tea collection, here was his desk. On it sat a photo of his family, next to one of the two of them. They couldn’t have been more than 14, smiling in a field, mountains behind them. With his old memories still feeling fresh, Bran shuddered at what those mountains once held. _He knew, the whole time he remembered, and still chose to stay with me, to stay with a bitter reminder of what he had lost, what he would lose._ In Will’s bedroom, tucked away, he found a sword. Not of crystal, but it was good and heavy and felt right in his hand, so he tucked it in his rucksack. Clearly the apartment wasn’t going to yield anything. Nothing to go on, at least. It had yielded some quickly-repressed longing for his best friend. _His best friend?_ There were no other likely contenders. The thought spurred Bran on, and he leaned into his instinct. Eyes closed, Bran reached out with his arms and mind, trying to find something, anything. His hand rested on a book, and he opened his eyes. It was in old English, nearly like Welsh, but still unintelligible to him. However, when Bran opened the book, something fluttered from the pages. A note, quickly scribbled in Will’s neat hand: _Dark in men - North?_ On the page it had marked, a few words were highlighted. Nothing he recognized, except one phrase. Close enough to the Welsh, he translated it to _brig y byd,_ the top of the world. It was something, a spot of hope. His instincts told him to trust it.

 

The top of the world turned out to be Scotland, old as Wales, but filled now with new danger . In a desolate moor, Bran found the stone structure Will’s trail had led him to. Upon the huge slabs that formed it’s three walls, sigils were painted in dark blue spray paint. They radiated a dark energy, and Bran shuddered. Still, he pressed on, called forward by some unheard voice. Steps descended down under the rocks. They were clearly old, and slippery from moss and dew. It was early morning again, still just before dawn. There must have been something about the light, or the wind, but suddenly Bran’s last 24 hours faded from his tired muscles, and he started down the stairs with renewed vigor. With each step, the dark energy got more powerful, until it was nearly pushing him backwards. Glad of his earlier choice, Bran retrieved the sword from his back. It didn’t glow in the darkness, whatever evil was here was dark, but not The Dark.

 

At bottom of the stairs, he was greeted by a horrible sight, enough to make him stumble. There, lying in a pool of blood, was Will. His back was to the door, and the pale skin of it was covered in angry red welts. Around him was some sort of circle. Bran disturbed it was he ran, oblivious, towards his friend. As rock salt sprayed across the wet floor, Will began to stir, moaning as he did so. When Bran reached him, he hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt him further. He walked around Will, stepping over chains that connected to cuffs on his ankles and wrists. Kneeling, he lifted Will’s face with gentle hands. They came away sticky to the touch. Will shuddered towards him, and turned his face to the light. Bran had to force himself to stay silent. Where Will’s eyes had been there were now two ragged holes. His face was damp with blood, still drying.

“Will, _duw,_ ” he breathed, before being cut off by a hand around his leg.

“Bran!” Will whispered, “They’re coming back.” Suddenly, sounds began to drift down from the stairwell. “They’ll kill you! They’re mortal, but they have some powerful dark magic.” He was shaking.

“You forget, I am made of something stronger than any dark.” Bran blinked back tears, and rose to press his lips to Will’s forehead, tasting blood. Then he turned to face the enemy, sword drawn.

 

When the room again stood silent, cool hands returned to Will’s cheeks.

“Are they…?”

“Gone.”

“Are you…?”

“Fine, better than you.” He was struggling not to cry. “How do I get you out of here?”

“The iron,” Will began, lifting his arms with apparent effort. “it, it binds my magic, keeps it contained. Your sword.” It could cut through the iron like water, and soon Will was free. He shivered, and began to stand, before doubling over with a sharp intake of breath. Swiftly, Bran caught him.

“Can I?” he wrapped his arms around Will when he slowly nodded. His friend was heavier than he remembered, as if weighed down. The pose took delicate maneuvering, as Bran tried to avoid Will’s most egregious injuries. His hand skirted past the trails of blood that ran down his inner thighs, and to his knees. Then, thinking better of it, Bran paused to take off his coat and wrap it around Will. He picked him up again and moved out as fast as he was able.

 


	2. Watching You Without Me

In the rented car, Will drifted in and out of consciousness. Bran kept him talking, afraid of what it could mean if he stopped. “Most of it you remember now, I suppose. I’ve been watching, a vanguard against the stirring of any Darkness. I still have the knowledge and skills of an Old One, though I’ve had little need to use them. But I guess…” he sighed. “I guess I wasn’t using them well enough.” He groaned as they drove over a bump. Instinctively, Bran reached out his hand to Will’s lap, and felt the reassuring squeeze of his friend’s hand. They were speeding towards the city, and Bran began to pray, before thinking better of it. Rather, he turned his thoughts to High Magic and his birth father. _Please._

 

In the A&E, nurses rushed Will back, leaving Bran alone in the waiting room. He paced. Eventually he sat. An hour passed, then two, and suddenly it was night. Bran hunched in the waiting room, dark glasses and a bloody shirt, avoiding stares. Eventually, when the room emptied, he stood and questioned the nurse.

“Where is the man I came in with?”

“You his family?”

“No, of course not, but I need to see him!” he followed with a more subdued “Please.”

“Family only.” He turned away, not making eye contact. Tamping down his rising anxiety, Bran found another phone and called the Evans farm. Through a daze, he was able to communicate to Will’s aunt and uncle the situation. As he hung up a near-by door opened, and another nurse poked her head out.  
“Follow me.” They hurried through dim corridors and stopped at a door. “Here he is,” she told him. “He’s been asking for you.” Inside the door, Will lay with pale skin against even paler sheets, surrounded by monitors. Though most of him was covered in a blanket, Bran could see a splint on one bandaged wrist, below his IV. Will’s face was clean now, no longer caked with blood and gore. Around it was wound layers of bandages, obscuring the gaping holes into Will’s skull. He appeared to be resting but stirred when the door was opened.

“Hello?” Just that one word, to hear that voice again, newly heavy with the weight of old memories, was enough to send Bran over the edge. He quickly crossed the room to Will’s side.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he half-said, half-sobbed.

“Bran…” was Will’ breathy reply. Then his face hardened under the bandages, and he drew himself up straighter.

“You should leave,” he said, “I don’t want you caught up in this.” If it wasn’t so sad, Bran would have laughed at his friend’s stubbornness.

“Will, how can I go back, how can I forget again, and leave you here to face this alone?” he grabbed Will’s hand, but dropped it as the other flinched. “Sorry,” he whispered. Will hesitated, hand raised above the covers, before lowering it back to Bran’s.

“I called for you, you know.” In context of their previous conversation, it made little continuity, but it did remind Bran of the photo of them Will kept on his desk. “In the last moments, as they bound me, I used all I had to call out to you.”

“And not to save yourself?” Bran asked. _Of course not._

“It was too late for that. I don’t think they were acting alone, no mortals could bind an Old One like that.”

“What… what happened?” Bran asked, afraid of the answer.

“I had felt… stirrings. I couldn’t figure out the source, I looked into it. They must have known, been alerted somehow. They came in the night, to my apartment. They had with them the irons you saw, imbued with deep, deep magics.” Bran shuddered, glad he had destroyed them. “They took me, North I guess. The shackles kept any magic inside me, useless. Well, not useless, it kept me alive. An Old One can’t be killed. We just come back. They must have known that, or else they would have just killed me and been done with it.” Bran didn’t miss the tone to Will’s voice, one which suggested this would have been better.

“In that cave they… they… well first they carved out my eyes.” It was matter-of-fact, too much so. His hand fluttered by his head, before dropping to the blankets again. “And then they… they…” Bran cut him off, not want to see his friend suffer the re-telling any longer.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say.” He rubbed Will’s cold hand between his own. “Do you know why?”

“It’s to do with the Dark, and with me being the Watchman. Can’t exactly watch with no eyes.” He huffed what sounded like a bitter laugh. “More than that though, they wanted to break me, destroy my will. With me out of the way, they could carry out whatever they were planning. I think it had something to do with returning the Lords of the Dark to this land, they’d need the help of men, otherwise they’re as trapped as the rest of the Old Ones, out of time.” Will sighed, laying back on his pillow. Just then, the nurse returned.

“Mr. Stanton, we took some blood while you were under. It is advisable that we test you for HIV. If you choose not to, it’ll be disposed of.” Sensing the underlying horror of the statement, Bran began to move towards the door, trying to give Will privacy. His hand shot out to wrap an iron-clad grip around a white wrist.

“Stay.” Then he added “Please,” before addressing the nurse. “You can run the test.” Once she had left, Bran whispered to Will: “They’re dead, all of them, I hope.”

“I know,” Will told him, “I called for you and you saved me, like a true knight in shining armor.” He was fading fast, exhaustion taking over. “Will you sleep here, please? We can share the bed like when we were young, I just, I just can’t be alone.” His hand grasped, wild, at Bran’s arms.

“Yes, of course, you never have to ask.” He slid next to Will on the narrow bed, arms and legs tangling. There was little room, and Bran found himself face-to-face with Will’s unseeing eyes. Tucking the soft brown head under his chin, he had to resist the urge to press a kiss to Will’s forehead. It felt overbearing.

“Is this okay?” He asked in a horse whisper. Will nodded, sleepy, and pressed closer. Instinct took over, and Bran wrapped him in white arms, this time giving into the urge to lay a kiss to the top of Will’s head. Will stiffened, minutely, before relaxing.

“That’s okay too,” his words were muffled by Bran’s chest.

 

The next day, the room was filled with Stantons. There are benefits of being the youngest, the baby of a family of eleven. Will’s mother cried, his sister Mary held one hand, and Barbara the other. James paced the room. Will was quiet, as usual, lying placidly in bed. Bran gave them some time together, and went to find coffee. He had been awoken early by a doctor evicting him from Will’s bed. Now, he stood by the window, trying to lay low and keep out of the way. Still, he couldn’t help but notice when Mrs. Stanton shot a look in his direction.

“Does Bran have anything to do with this?” she asked. Will moved forward, a brief burst of energy.

“Bran’d never hurt me!” he exclaimed. His mother blushed at that.

“No, of course not! I meant, just what with you… and him... and we thought London was a progressive city, though I guess this isn’t London, but who would think…” she trailed off, and Barbara cut in.

“Will, we know you’re gay.”

“And we love you.” His mother added. _Oh._ Not the direction Bran thought that was going.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Will brushed it off. “but thank you.” He gave his mother’s hand a squeeze. _That’s a good explanation for it._ By this time, James had made his way over to the window. He stared out, brows dark with rage.

“I hope they rot in jail for the rest of their lives,” he spat.

“Jail won’t be much help there,” Bran muttered without thinking.

“Come again?” James turned to face him. Scrambling for a response, Bran set his face into a hard line.

“Police don’t do much for poofs, you know.” _If they know, they know,_ he figured, _might was well stick to the story._

 

Neither mentioned it until the next time they were alone, three days later. Bran had been camping in the waiting room and living off vending machine coffee.

“My mum thinks we’re a couple,” Will said conversationally.

“I told your brother I was gay.” An absurd response for an absurd statement in an absurd and fucked up situation. And yet, it was the only bright point in a world that was feeling very dark of late. And what were they, but warriors of the light?

“I beat you to it on that one.”

“How’d you mean?”

“With James. Him and I got pissed last New Year’s, when he came and visited me, and I told him I was in love with you. I guess he told the whole family.” Bran knows Will’s family lives in 1985, and his Da in 1935, but it still stings a bit to hear Will’s family knows, and loves him anyway. He saw the way his mum looked at her son, and knew there a moment of what he had lost. Yet, maybe to hear Will finally acknowledge this thing between them, and to have his love was enough. He reached out his hand to Will’s, which clasped back.

“I think I can hear you blushing,” Will said, grinning, and it was the first time Bran had seen him smile in so long. That, that was absolutely enough.


	3. And Dream of Sheep

With time, Will began to adjust. There was one gash on his back that became infected, and he stayed in hospital nearly a month. His family could only stay a few days at most, his mother staying the longest, but even she had to leave after two weeks. Still, Bran was there. He was there through surgery, through transitions. Eventually, the nurses began to accept his constant presence in Will’s room, and stopped shooing him out.

“Don’t you have a job?” Will eventually questioned. “Or someplace else you need to be?”

“I rang work about a week ago to tell them I quit. They would have fired me by now anyway.”

“Bran,” Will frowned, “You shouldn’t just leave everything.”

“Oh, don’t be so full of yourself,” Bran scoffed, “It’s not because of you. I couldn’t just remember the whole thing and then go back to being a mechanic.”

“What are you going to do, then?” _What am I going to do?_

“I don’t know. I’m not leaving you again though.”

“Bran…” Will wanted to keep him separate, safe, having a chance for the regular life he could never have. Though, it seemed to be too late for that. A not insignificant part of him warmed at the words. That was the part that wanted to hold Bran close, or rather for Bran to hold him in those strong farmer’s arms. He was the only one left who could ever hope to understand who and what Will was, and what his life had been. His heart leaped at the chance to leave behind the lonely solidarity of the last Watchman of the light.

“You’ll need help too.” And it didn’t sound patronizing, just a fact. “I’m guessing those men in the cave weren’t the last of their tribe. They didn’t succeed this time, but you were saying they have access to some pretty powerful magic. Besides, every great _dewin_ needs a good knight in shining armor.” Will couldn’t help but grin at that, as Bran’s hand came down on his head.

“I need to get better before we move on to the next step.”

“About that,” Bran ran his thumb along Will’s cheek bone, under the bandages around his head. The bone stuck out, a month of bed rest had taken his normally stocky body and reduced it to skin and bones. “You can fix this, right? With your magic?” Will sighed and bowed his head.

“I don’t think so. I’ve tried already. They must have used some magic in the wounding. I know that blinding me was their main goal, so they wouldn’t have risked me fixing it.”

“Can I use any magic?” Bran sounded genuinely curious. “I know Arthur is like the King of High Magic, can I use that to heal you?”

“I don’t know. I doubt it, because you’re technically just a mortal. And you gave up your birthright.”

“Just a mortal? Not good enough for you, Old One?” Bran teased, but the truth was hitting him. “So, you’re blind now, forever?” Will just nodded.

 

 

With no plan in mind, they returned to Will’s London flat. The plants on the windowsills were all dead, and a layer of dust covered everything. Bran turned himself to cleaning, for something to do, while Will re-learned his own space. It was strange, to know somewhere, and not know it at the same time. The hospital had given him a cane, but the flat was small enough that he could navigate by keeping one hand on the wall. Any venture outside, however, proved somewhat quest-like on its own. Clutching Bran’s arm, he would be pulled through the busy crowds on the street. There was nerve damage in one of his legs, broken in the cave, and his limp meant Bran was always faster. In some respects, his magic made it easier, opening his mind to everything around him, and keeping him aware of the world. But sometimes the awareness was overwhelming and confusing. He slept a lot.

His dreams, too, were overwhelming. In them he was back in the cave, in the darkness and surrounded by pain. Nothing touched him, yet he was still immobile, held bound and scared. Voices would float over him, gruff and angry. They talked of their plans, and he knew he must listen, must force his way through the nightmare to find the clues hidden in his own memory, hard as that memory may feel. One of the voices was a woman, and that stung worse. Will had always trusted women more, preferred spending time with the girls when he was growing up. They were always softer, more prone to overlook his oddities. Of course, Bran had always been the same, odd in his own ways. And, the hands that shake him awake from the nightmares are still soft, despite the calluses.

 

“It’s like when we first met, and you were still getting over that sickness.” Bran was leading Will to the library, he was beginning to re-learn how to read with just his fingers.

“I do recall quite a few hikes I spent leaning on you.”

“Was that sickness the work of the Dark as well? I always wondered.”

“Maybe,” Will replied thoughtfully, “Though it may also have been the Light, arranging for me to end up in Wales to finish the quest.”

“They’d do that?” Bran sounded incredulous.

“For the greater good, for the victory of the Light, yes.”

“You’re not just their pawn, Will.” He was angry now, and it festered under the surface of his words. “And now they’re left you here to face anything alone.”

 

But, he wasn’t truly cut off from the other Old Ones. Merriman visited in his dreams as well, ones where he could still see. On their first meeting here, his Master had embraced Will.

“My child, I am truly sorry. If I had known you’d be so vulnerable to the darkness of men, we would not have left you alone.” It was said with guilt, and not a hint of patronization.

Now, they sat beside a dreamed-up lake, discussing plans and strategies.

“So, you are with the Pendragon again.”

“I am, he rescued me.”

“And he has broken the memory spell placed on him?”

“I think I had something to do with that.” Then Will added, in a much more human-sounding tone, “Please, don’t make me make him forget again.” Merriman looked surprised, though only for a moment.

“You love him, don’t you?” Will could only nod. “That is good, I think.”

Suddenly, Bran appeared in front of them. He looked as if just pulled from slumber, wearing his pajamas. It was the first time Will had actually _seen_ him in quite some time, and he noted how long his white-blond hair was getting. It stuck up at odd angles now, and only served to heighten the annoyed look on his face. The annoyance was mostly directed at Merriman, and his face softened when he looked to Will.

“Am I in your dream then, or are you in mine?” he asked, and it was Merriman who responded.

“We are both in Will’s head.”

“You just can’t leave him alone, can you?” Bran was tense now, ready to snap. “Hasn’t he done enough for you?”

“You would do well to stay calm and listen to me, Bran Davies. I have an offer I think you will want to hear.” Bran bristled but remained quiet. “Will was to remain our sentinel here, to guard men against the Dark within themselves. We did not give credit, perhaps, to how deep that Dark can run. I am afraid we did him a great disservice. Yet, this is in the past, and we will offer a stronger front to them now. Mind you, you are not yet a Lord of High Magic, nor is Will an Old One in the zenith of his power, but through your union you are greater than each alone.” He had a far-off look in his eyes. “It was much the same between I and your father, Bran. And the land gladdened for it.”

“Oh, were you lovers, then?” Bran couldn’t resist another jab, still dissatisfied at the response. Merriman ignored the question. “Even if we wanted to separate you, you are bound by powerful blood magic. The bond between is nearly unbreakable.”

“Blood magic?” Will looked at him in askance.

“In the hospital,” Bran responded. “You needed surgery on your leg, it was too broken. But you needed blood, and I was a match.”

“His blood is in your body, Will, and so his magic and yours are connected. This will have interesting consequences, but I think they will be mostly good.”

“Thank you,” Will said. It was heartfelt, but unnecessary. Bran was willing to lay down his very life for his _dewin._

 The dream began to dissolve, as Will pulled them from slumber. In their bed, he rolled over into Bran.

“He means well, you know.”

“Sure,” Bran mumbled into his pillow. “But what the bloody fuck did that all mean?”

“You’ve been essentially made partner to me in my duties. We both lend our talents to a common goal.”

“The good of mankind?” It was sarcastic, but still affectionate.

“Absolutely,” Will replied, grinning.


	4. Cloudbursting

But, even immensely powerful, immortal beings were still subject to the outside world. When Will came down for breakfast one morning, Bran was already sat at the tiny kitchen table.

“You’re being evicted.” Will swung his head up, hair flopping over the pattern of scars that crisscrossed his face.

“What?”

“Will _bach_ , you haven’t paid the rent in two months. Why didn’t you tell me?” Will ran a hand through his hair. “I think in all honesty I just forgot. Besides, we don’t have jobs so it’s not like we could stay here for long.”

“Where are you planning on going, O wanderer?”

“Well, we could go back to Tywyn. Don’t you have a house there yet? Or to get your harp if nothing else.” He said it with a slow smile.

“Sure, because Tywyn’s such a lovely place. I can hear them now; Ye local devilish albino corrupts nice young man into his perverted ways.” Will laughed at that, nearly spilling his tea.

“I think it’d be more: Ye local devilish albino and mutilated blind man prove God’s punishment on the fags,” they fell about, laughing hard.

“Still, you are being evicted.”

 

They pawned off most of the furniture, and gave the rest to Barney Drew in exchange for help with the packing. He needed it to furnish his shabby art student studio apartment. Because they were both in London, Barney was the only Drew sibling Will kept in touch with. Jane had married an American and moved to Greece, and Simon was a banker. Will liked Barney’s crowd, because each was stranger than he was, and it was a welcome change from how he felt most of the time. They didn’t bat an eye at Bran either, but most of them did request him as a portrait model. They also had the best weed. The three of them sat on Will’s roof now, smoking in the night air. It felt easy, normal after all the turbulence. Of course Barney had freaked out at first, but that was nearly two months ago, and he was settled now. Will attributed it to his powers of insight, hidden from him though they may be.

“Hey Will,” Barney’s voice disturbed him from his thoughts, “Have you been letting Bran dress you?” Will tilted his head, like a dog.

“Yes, why?”

“You’re wearing all black.” Will snorted in response, and then grinned.

“These are even his pants,” He was full on laughing now. “I had to roll the cuffs up!” Bran was a good head taller than Will, but had been the thinner one, at least until Will’s recent brush with death.

“Hey,” Bran protested, “You asked to borrow them because yours didn’t fit!” He was laughing too, and it drifted up into the city night. The next morning they would load up the hired car, with much fewer belongings than they had the day before. All Will owned was books and clothes, and the books held little purpose for him now, though he did keep a few for sentimental reasons. His extensive cassette collection came with them, and they shared headphones from a Walkman on the train.

“What’s this?” Bran asked at every new song on Will’s favorite mixtape.

“You don’t even know Floyd?” he was incredulous. “This is off their first record, it’s the only love song of theirs I know.”

“And this one? I like it.”

“Queen? You don’t even know Queen? And you call yourself gay?”

“Bisexual, and I was raised by a hermit in Northern Wales. We had hymns and that was about it.”

“Freddie Mercury’s bisexual I think. Keeping good company, you are.”

They called Rhys from the station, hoping for fewer questions. Rhys had two children now, but he still considered the boys like little brothers, and drove out in the rain to meet them. He pulled Will close and held him for a moment, before releasing and shaking Bran’s hand.

“It’s good to see you back.”


	5. Running up that Hill (A Deal with God)

Being back in the valley awoke uneasy feelings in Bran. He swore he could still feel the breath of the Grey King on his back, and couldn’t avoid the stares of people he knew. They had never been overly friendly to him, but now they would cross the street to avoid him. His Da was the worst. He didn’t say anything outright, but the silence was just as damning. Will slept in Bran’s bed, and Bran on the couch. It was the first time they had slept apart since Will left the hospital.

 

Maybe it was the separation, maybe it was the energy in the valley, but Bran began to visit Will’s dreams more and more frequently. Some were bright, them running as children through the moors. Others were dark, as Will began to dream without sight. The memories of the cave were the darkest though.

 

The first night was the worst. He stood, paralyzed, in a corner. In front of him, a group of dark figures stood surrounding a prostrate man. Strange blue light suffused the air around them, and it smelled of iron, mildew, and the underground. Bran strained to move forward as one of the figures raised the man’s head, and he was looking into Will’s face. He looked fierce and defiant, yet small at the same time. The figure in front of him tilted Will’s head back, creating an image of peaceful prayer that was painfully at odds with the reality of the situation. The man moved a hand in his robe, and something glinted in his hand. Before Bran could process what it was, the hand rose in a swift arch and buried a knife in the upturned face. Will barely flinched, but Bran wanted to scream, to vomit, to pass out. He watched helpless as they carved Will’s eyes form his head, as they threw him to the ground, as they raped him. Unmoving, he sobbed for his friend who could not.

 

Bran awoke with a gasp, the vestiges of the dream still holding close to him. He had guessed at what they had done to Will, but to see it so close and personal was like a punch to the stomach. Will had never told him the details, so he guessed that these images came from his sleeping mind. He wanted to go to Will and maybe wake him up, but felt his feet carry him outside instead. It was after dawn, and he could see the dogs bringing in the cows for milking. Behind the cottage was a pen with a few bottle lambs, mostly grown now and ready to join their herd come winter. There was also Bran’s old car, a junky pick up he was trying to fix up. It also served as a good distraction. Will found him still out there after breakfast, grease on his hands and shirt.

“I’m sure you’re looking very fit right now,” he said lightly. Bran couldn’t find it in him to laugh.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he replied impulsively. “Anywhere.” Will raised one scarred eyebrow in his direction.

“Eager to get away? You haven’t had breakfast yet?”

“We can pack a picnic, go to the beach.” He needed, desperately, to replace those images of Will from his dreams with something else, anything else. Or, anything else that involved seeing Will smile, seeing Will laugh. Which he did now.

“Yes, m’lord.” It was their private joke between the two of them, nearly enough to pull Bran from his funk. He twitched his lips in an unseen smile, and ducked his head. “I’ll get packing.”

 

They swam together with the last of the seasons tourist, drinking up late summer sun. Will’s blindness was an easy excuse for the amount of casual contact they shared in public. Bran was simply guiding him. Though, the twin sunglasses they wore made for strange picture. Even tourists gave them some berth, though Bran hardly noticed. The sun and the water exhausted him, running on little sleep, and soon they were headed home.

 

That night, he was in the cave again. The dream picked up from where the last one left off, with Will laying in the circle of dark figures. Some time must have past, because he seemed to be unconscious now. The leader withdrew a long whip, and awoke Will with a silent scream. Each fresh wound had Bran straining further and further against the dream-magic that held him still. When the beating stopped, he watched one of the figures bring forth a long metal rod. On its end was a flat twisted shape, glowing white-hot. Two of the others spread Will’s legs. Bran could tell what would come next, he had seen the scar this brand would leave. With one last push of desperation he reached for his magic, untrained though it was.

 

Suddenly, Bran was no longer watching. Rather it was as if him and Will had traded places. He was naked and blind on the floor, held open. _Good,_ he thought _I can take his place, if only in his dreams_. The brand came down, scorching, against his inner thigh. He wanted to move, but found himself pinned hopelessly by some external force. A wordless scream rent his mind.

 

He awoke, sudden and violent. He was back on the couch, and it was morning again. The truck was looking good by breakfast, so he went in to find Will seated at the table. He looked worse for wear, the skin around his eye scars tight. That day they went to visit John Rowlands. He had a bitch with a growing litter, and Bran though puppies were the perfect distraction. They were. It was unclear, however, who they were a distraction for.

The puppies were nearly two months old, and exuberant to match. Will sat with them on the floor while Bran talked to John at the table. He passed on the news of the valley and its people. A small and speckled pup fell asleep on Will’s lap as John put on the kettle for tea. It was quiet and content, and Bran felt some of the tension he was holding fall away. After tea, John had to tend to some of his bottle lambs, and Bran followed, leaving Will inside under the sleeping litter. In the dim of the barn, John looked strangely at Bran.

“You’ll be leaving soon, then.” It wasn’t a question. “You both.”

“I don’t know where we’ll go, but I’d follow him anywhere.” The look of naked honesty and affection on his face was too much for the widower, and he turned away. Bran wasn’t sure how much, if anything, John remembered. But he knew that regardless, the bonds of kinship they shared were still there.

“I’m glad you have each other.” It was the most approval they were going to get from the valleysmen, and hearing it from John, close to a father to him as Owen was, soothed some of the anger Bran was still holding.

 

This time when Bran found himself in Will’s nightmares, he pushed hard to switch places with him, and was rewarded. _Practice makes perfect_ he thought to himself, before what felt like a wooden bat connected with his exposed back. With each hit, he catalogued the damage, remembering when they had first admitted Will to the A&E. Pain bloomed along his side, and he knew that was the two broken ribs. Most of the blows were just bruises, but one particularly well aimed one shattered something in his lower leg. He could feel the bone splinter, and remembered giving Will his blood when they went in to pin the leg. Maybe it was the blood linking them that allowed him to take Will’s place, or maybe it was some deeper magic. When they rolled him on his stomach and thrust the bat inside him, he felt close to tearing in two. _How did he survive this?_ Will must be stronger than even he knew. It was only by remembering the other, stubbornly holding his face in his mind, that Bran was able to think through the pain. To have gone through it for real, with no knowledge of when or if the torture would end, must have been pure hell. Blessedly, Will woke up, and the dream fell away.

 

Bran lay a few moments, eyes still closed, when he awoke. He shuddered. The bottom stair creaked, and he cracked an eye and turned. Will stood leaning on the banister, head tilted towards him.

“Can’t sleep?” Bran joked, but it sounded hollow. Will quirked a small smile for his benefit, and came to sit on the couch. He landed squarely on Bran’s knees, and the other protested for a moment before rearranging, pulling Will into his lap.

“It’s not your burden, Bran, its mine.”

“A burden shared is lightened,” he replied.

“Please,” Will sounded pained, “You know I’m not properly human, my limits aren’t the same as you.” Bran tightened his grip around Will’s shoulders.

“It doesn’t hurt me, at least not for long. Don’t worry on my account, I want to do this. You know I love you, let me do this for you.”

“Ah, you only love me because I’m not properly human.” It was a joke of theirs, how Bran preferred the company of animals to people, and had told Will he ‘didn’t count as people’.

“Do you remember the old legend, that those who spend the night on the mountain come down either a poet or mad?”

“Yes?” Will seemed confused by the change in topic.

“I was thinking, we should sleep up there tonight. I don’t know if I can spend another night away from you. We can bring a tent, camp like we’re kids again.” Will smiled at the idea, and relaxed in Bran’s arms.

“Will you keep out of my dreams?”

“I can’t promise that, mostly because I don’t understand the magic well enough. But maybe they’ll be good dreams this time.”

“And maybe we’ll both be great bards by tomorrow morning.”


	6. The Big Sky

With Bran leading Will across fields full of rocks, sheep droppings, and soft hillocks of grasses, it took them the better part of the day to reach the top of _Cader Idris_. Their tent was old, but kept the wind at bay. It was a warm night, yet still they curled together under the covers, glad to be allowed to touch again.

“Reminds me of when we camped up by the lake, must have been near 10 years ago now.”

“Oh, that was the worst, I remember,” Will said, laughing.

“The worst?” Bran was indignant.

“God, yeah. I was fourteen and horny as hell and we were sharing a tent and it just about killed me. I’m pretty sure I waited till you were asleep and jacked off quietly as possible.” Bran laughed whole-heartedly at that. Still, he was a bit surprised. It was the first time Will had mentioned being interested in him sexually. He hadn’t wanted to bring it up, aware of the trauma that likely surrounded the subject for Will. He had seen the dreams, after all. And Will had never mentioned it, so they just let it lie. Despite Bran’s jab at Merriman, they could scarcely be considered lovers if all they had done was share chaste kisses.

“ _Duw_ , Will, at least I waited until the next night when weren’t sleeping inches from each other.” Now it was Will’s turn to laugh.

“Desperate times, Bran, desperate times.” They settled into a comfortable silence until Bran couldn’t help himself.

 

“I know we haven’t talked about it or anything, and you can completely say no, but would you, or do you want,” he stumbled over the words, and Will cut him off.

“Yeah, I want to have sex with you. If you want me.” He blushed, and the scars on his cheeks stood in sharp relief. It was all Bran could do stop himself from kissing those scars. Instead, he reached for Will’s hand, and brought it up to his mouth.

“M’lady,” he kissed the hand.

“M’lord,” Will replied, grinning. Bran rolled them over until Will was on top of the blankets, and him on top of Will. Kissing his way from the pliant mouth to the bare stomach, Bran ran his hands down Will’s arms. He stiffened when the fingers touched his wrists, and Bran pulled away.

“ _Cariad?”_

“Sorry, it’s just, the wrists, you know, I don’t…” and Bran did know, had felt the scars that ran around them like bracelets, or maybe more like shackles. He hated himself for a moment for unintentionally causing Will pain.

“Of course, I know.” He moved his hands down to Will’s hips instead, and began to ease off his pants. Will sighed, and reached for Bran’s shoulder. It was a strange version of when Will first came home, and Bran helped him with physical therapy, to regain the muscle he had lost from a month in bed. He would kneel between Will’s legs, moving first one and then the other over his head, maintaining the range of motion. Then, soft trousers had separated them. Now, there was nothing. He stared, for a moment. His _dewin_ really was beautiful. Seeing the brand the Dark had left on his inner thigh, Bran reached up and ran a finger along the other brand, more faded, on the underside of Will’s arm. He gasped in response to the touch.

“Do that again.” Bran did. He also leaned his head down, and drew his lover into his mouth. The combination was almost too much for Will, moaning. His reactions were flattering. Bran tried not to let it go to his head, it wouldn’t do to get too arrogant. As for some arrogance, it was too late for that. He lived birthright with the same understanding with which he knew his own name. Still, it paled with this. He had what was probably the most powerful creature left on earth writhing underneath him, whispering his name, and spilling quick and hot down his throat. The last of Old Ones gently rolling them, kneeling to him like a loyal vassal. The _my liege_ was unspoken, yet hung in the air all around them.

 

They lay, entangled, warm against the mountain’s night air.

“This was a good idea, I think.”

“Sex on a mountain? It certainly makes for a memorable first time. Have you ever, before?” Will shook his head in response.

“Unless you count…”

“Of course not. How’d you get so good then?”

“I’ve learned the entirety of human knowledge, and more besides. I should think it would at least make me good in bed.” He paused, distant for moment, before the feeling came back into his face.

“All the knowledge and still I forgot. _Loving bonds._ There’s nothing older or more powerful. What was it Merriman said? _but through your union you are greater than each alone_. Great enough to usher in another golden age, he meant, when men’s hearts again are clear and there is no room for the Dark to gain a toehold. Always on the defensive, the Light is. But maybe we can attack without fighting this time.”

“ _Cariad,_ ” Bran cut him off. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Will grinned at him.

“Sex magic. Useful for this sort of thing.”

“This sort of thing, of course. Take me to dinner first, boyo.”

“Oh, I have something else you can have, if you’re hungry.” At that, Bran launched himself at Will, laughing, and they wrestled in the blankets until someone popped the flap to the tent open and they spilled onto the cold ground.


	7. Jig of Life

They came down off the mountain not poets, but still with a new purpose. They knew their time in the valley was limited, and Bran was itching to leave. He fought with his father, finished fixing his truck, and ranged far on the scraggy mountains when he wasn’t doing either. Will returned to the Bird Door, led by the traces of magic there, to plan his next move. He listened to the vestiges of the Old Ones, trying to scope out some new prophecy of his own. While Bran and Owen were yelling, he wisely kept out of their way. He wanted to be helpful, on the farm, but couldn’t do much beside pet John Rowland’s puppies and spend time with Rhys’ children.

 

“Uncle Will?” the oldest questioned, “ _Da_ says that you’re staying with Old Mr. Davies, and not with us, even though we’re family, because Mr. Davies is like your family too. What does that mean?” _Oh god, was he going to have to explain his relationship to an 8-year-old?_  
“Sometimes, family is the people we are related to by blood. Like your sisters, or your parents. But sometimes it’s just the people we love very much. Did you know, you and I aren’t actually related by blood?” She stared at him, wide-eyed, though he couldn’t see it.

“But you’re Da’s cousin!”

“Not really. My mum and your grandmum were very good friends growing up, and so they became like family to each other.”

“Is that how you and Mr. Davies are?”

“Sort of.” That was enough for now, explaining the queers could wait until she was older. “Can you show me what you’ve learned on the harp today?”

 

One night, Owen stayed out of the house later than usual.

“At the pub, I reckon,” Bran muttered, disgruntled, “I suppose I’ll have to go get him.” He slid on a raincoat, and turned back to Will sitting on the couch.

“You’ll be ok?” Will hummed an affirmative, not turning his face from the fire.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, good luck with your da!”

With daylight gone from his world, Will was finding it hard to tell time. An hour passed, maybe two, and still Bran and Owen weren’t home. The warmth from the fire was dying down. He wasn’t worried, though, his Old One senses weren’t feeling anything out of the ordinary. Will focused on the book he was reading, ordered special by Bran for him. Luckily, Braille was included in the Book of Grammerye, though it had taken some practice to get used to. Unbelievable was the fact that Bran found a book of Welsh folktales in Braille for him. Some were accurate, some were not, all were thoroughly enjoyable. It must have been three hours now, and they still weren’t home. Will threw a quick spell to put out the fire, and went up to bed. He didn’t know the cottage as well as he had learned his Soho flat, and he barked a shin on the edge of the tub brushing his teeth. But, he made it to bed fine, and fell asleep to an empty house.

 

Will had no idea how much time had passed when he was awoken by a sudden heavy weight on top of him.  
“ _Dwi'n feddw, Will.”_ It was Bran’s voice, very close to his ear. “ _Mae'n ddrwg gennyf eich deffro,_ I just had to come and see you were ok.” He moved off of Will, and settled next to him in bed. Will rolled over, pulling his mind into order from the sleep-addled state it was in.

“Find your da?”

“I did! And we talked! And it was good! We think you should get a dog. We could train it, have a proper guide dog. I know lots about training dogs, you know.” It was said so earnestly, Will couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ah, Bran, I really love you, you know that?”

“So do I! And,” his voice got sober, “I’m so sorry Will. I’m, I’m so so so sorry. _Dylwn fod wedi bod yn gyflymach.”_ He devolved into Welsh again.

“Bran darling, there’s nothing to apologize for. You saved me.” He knew, without asking, what Bran was apologizing for.

“Will, I’ve seen your dreams. I know what they did. I know every hour I waited, every minute I was lost was more hurt to you. I’m sorry.” He grabbed Will’s hand, held it tight, and kissed it. The kiss was damper than normal, tears must have been reaching his lips.

“Bran,” Will wanted to shake him, but was pretty sure in his drunken state it might result in sick on the bed. “You saved me. And I’m not just saying this to be nice. I heard _them_ talking. When I tell you they wanted to break me, I mean break me. After my eyes, they would have taken my fingers, one by one.” He twined their hands together. “They were going to take my feet, my legs,” he moved the conjoined hands to his thighs. “And these,” he touched them to his ears. “And these,” he finished, their hands together between his legs. “You really did save me.” He could tell Bran was full-on sobbing now, his body shaking as it pressed against Will’s.

“How,” he asked, “how can such evil exist? How can such evil come for you, for my _dewin_ , my Will? I would have taken it all for you, you know. I’d gladly be a legless, earless, eunuch for you to be safe and happy.” Will kissed him.

“I’m ok,” he told Bran, “really. Us Old Ones are resilient. And I have to live with this body forever, so I better get used to what’s happened to it.”

“Still, I’d rather it hadn’t happened. I’d do anything for you, if I could get your eyes back,” Bran slurred a bit on the end of his sentence, draping himself over Will. He rubbed their joined hands along the blankets over Will’s stomach.

“I don’t know.” Will had to get it off his chest, and maybe a drunk Bran was the best person to hear it. “I was… so lonely before. No one else left on earth knew what I knew, had seen what I’d seen. I’d spend time with you and the Drews, and it was good, it was really good, but it wasn’t the same. I missed Merriman, and the Lady, and Bran the Pendragon.”

“The Pendragon!” Bran laughed.

“So, maybe this is better. Than before, I mean. Eyes aren’t that big a price to pay, in the long run.”

“But-“ Bran sounded concerned, but Will cut him off.

“It was always two, don’t you see? They should have known, that one to go alone wasn’t enough. Arthur had his lion, Gewwthyian his Giythern, and you had me. Merriman could have chosen any time to bring you to, could have had you be an adult for the last battle, but he chose to have us the same age. To grow up together, and to be partners. And then to have it all thrown away, to be alone again, an Old One with no king to serve? It wasn’t the right way. This is better, us together, no matter what else has happened.”

“Will…” Bran sounded upset. “I didn’t want to forget. If I can’t be sorry for this, let me at least be sorry for that. I wish… I stayed here for the people that bound me to this time, this place. and you were one of them. I think I knew I loved you then. But I was, um, 12. Or maybe I was 13, I don’t remember.” Will laughed at him. “But, I wish… I wish we could have done it right, done it like normal people. Just been Will and Bran.”

“And let the world fall? And after, been what, childhood friends? Been two people who met once on holiday, and then fell out of each other’s lives?”

“You really think this is better?” Bran sounded wet, like he was still crying.

“I do.” Will responded wholeheartedly.

“Not even human in sensibility,” he sniffed. Will just kissed him. He couldn’t explain why any life with Bran was better than any life without him, no matter the other factors in those lives. It was impossible to put into words the sense of correctness that came from being close to him, from every time he was even in his presence. The universe wanted, needed them to be a unit, and while Bran might not be as in tune to it, Will felt it down to his bones. He suspected that even without the sweeping arm of fate, he would still feel drawn to the other man, but with it the drive was irresistible. No matter what else came for them, this bond was unbreakable. He grasped Bran’s hand, and stroked a thumb over it.

“You love me for it. And I you.” Bran didn’t respond, he was already asleep.


	8. Hounds of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this got me into Kate Bush?? an artist I did not listen to before?

In a week, the truck was done. Bran began packing it almost as soon as the engine turned over successfully, needing to leave. The air around him had become more and more stuffy, until it became nearly suffocating. The valley was beautiful, but he wanted out.

Will sat on the top of the bonnet, feeling autumn come on in the wind on his face.

“Where is this car headed, my lord? Do you have a plan?”

“Away.” He hauled another rope across the large canvas bag that held most of his belongings.

“I don’t think you have one, so you’re lucky then, because I do.

We need a base, somewhere to get ready.” Ready for what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Something grand, a piece of magic that would solidify their union, and solidify that union’s place as a protective power over the world. The details were still in the works.

“You do?” Bran stopped short. “D’you care to share it?” He leaned against the car, head tilted up to his _diwan._

“You wouldn’t remember, because you never met him, but Merriman had a friend in Cornwall, Captain Tooms, another Old One. The Drews used to rent his house, and I met him when I stayed with them over an Easter holiday in primary school.”

“Ah yes, your grail quest, I recall.” Will smiled at that, the absurdity of it that had defined his childhood.

“Well when the Old Ones left, they left behind the lives they had made for themselves. And lives involve belongings, like houses. Most Old Ones did’t have families, people to leave things to in wills or what have you. Most gave their things to friends, charity, the like, and a quite a few gave things to me, as the last of them. I own a house in Nepal, one in Brazil, and a cabin way up north in Canada. And, more locally, Captain Tooms’ house in Cornwall.”

“Four houses Will? Are you secretly a millionaire? Any other hidden property I should know about?” Bran sounded incredulous, but good-natured about it.

“Oh, just the Swiss bank accounts,” Will laughed.

“Are we headed south then? Or would you rather shack up in a cabin in Canada?”

“Cornwall, please. The Isles are a bit more my ‘territory’. Though I guess everything is mine to watch over now.” The weight of that responsibility would be enough to crush anyone else, but for Will it constituted nothing more than a small revelation, to be filed in his mind and picked apart later.

 

 

With the car packed and a destination in mind, leaving became much more real. Bran and Owen shared a drawn-out goodbye, ending in a long hug. Will hung back to give them space, but in the end, Owen pulled him close.

“Take care of him, Old One,” he whispered gruffly. Will nearly startled at that, until he remembered that Owen Davies had the rare privilege or retaining all of his memories intact. He let go as quickly as he had embraced him. Then, they were moving away, into seats and down the road to John Rowland’s for final goodbyes.

 

Will waited in the car while Bran and John had their farewells. Their voices grew somewhat hushed, and he knew, in the way of an ordinary human’s senses, that they were talking about him. He could listen in, they had already discussed his quasi-telepathy and Bran’s indifference to it (“I’d probably tell you anyway. But don’t expect any surprise parties then.” “Well that’s a deal-breaker then, isn’t it?”) but it wasn’t important. Bran would tell him eventually, he always did. Rather, Will leaned back in his seat, settling in for the long ride. Had he had eyes still, he would have closed them. Outside, the voices ended, and a door shut. Yet, Bran didn’t move toward the car. The door re-opened, and two people came towards the driver’s side. Bran got in, and turned the key in the ignition while John walked around the car. Will was about to ask why when Bran told him to roll down his window. He did, and was greeted by John’s kind voice.

“Hullo Will, I’ve a present for you here.”

Suddenly, something warm, soft, and very wiggly was deposited in his lap. A small wet tongue covered his face, almost getting in his mouth.  A puppy! One of John’s sheepdog litter! For a moment, everything else in his life fell away, and Will was left with the sheer joy that only a very young animal can bring. He ran his fingers through the dog’s fur, still puppy-soft, and let it explore his face and shoulders with a cold nose.

“For me?” he asked, incredulous.

“If you want her,” Bran replied, already knowing the answer.

“Davies was sayin’ how you were needing a dog, and seeing as how this one seemed to like you, I figured you should have her.”

“Thank you! Thank you so mrgh-,” the puppy got her tongue into his open mouth, “- so much.”

“This is a real smart line too, so if you give her a little training she should be a good guide for you.”

 

There were other goodbyes from John, and then Rhys and the kids as they drove by, though Will didn’t pay much attention. It was a surprisingly tactile experience, getting to know his new dog while Bran drove. She nibbled his hands with needle-sharp puppy teeth, and breathed little huffs of puppy breath in his face. Once she settled, he ran his hands over her, learning the slope of her back, the not-yet-feathered tail, and the too-big paws she would eventually grow in to.

“Do’ya have a name for her?” Bran asked, changing the tape in the player.

“I don’t,” Will replied, as _Hounds of Love_ filled the cabin. It was Will’s newest acquisition, purchased in town a few days prior. Shopping was still hard for him, and mostly involved asking Bran what was in front of him, or just letting the other pick things for him. This time, Bran had been buying the rope they used to tie everything down with, and Will had wandered to the record shop next door. Luckily, the shopkeeper had the tape. He stood imposingly over him while Will counted out cash. A £5 felt a lot like a £10, but he eventually figured it out, and left the store probably a bit too fast, cassette in hand.

“Where’d you go?” Bran asked, upon finding him outside. There was a hint of worry in his voice, typical for whenever Bran had to leave Will alone. He supposed he should be annoyed at his friend’s mother hen tendencies; it’s not like he could realistically end up in any danger with his powers. But, it was sweet and comforting to know Bran cared so much.

In the car, Will reached out his mind towards Bran’s. He felt the faint worry that was always there, but it was a drop compared to the ocean of love that stood behind it. He could get lost in it, and with nothing else to do, he dove in. The road stretched before them, and his new puppy dozed on his lap. _Like the sun coming out, I just know that something good is going to happen,_ sang the radio. The truck cabin was warm, and safe, and filled with love from their little family.  
“Bran?” Will asked.

“Ya?”

“What do you think of calling her Kate?”

**Author's Note:**

> The working title of this fit is 'Truly the worst'


End file.
